


stay

by wingspike



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: (Slightly), Angst, Drunken Confessions, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, odin tries So Hard to love zero really, some drinking @ marx's coronation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingspike/pseuds/wingspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if i told you i had to go, would you beg me to stay?<br/>it's the end of a war and i may have others to fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE ODIN/ZERO what is new.  
> inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCeoI3S-by8) and [this art](https://twitter.com/birbmeow/status/730695167062089728). T0T and me crying like a baby.  
> shoutout to rachel for always feeding odin/zero hcs back n forth with me.  
> (dances) i feel like zero is the guy that would cry at the prospect of someone (finally) close to him leaving considering his prior experience w abandonment so .. here we go.

_oh, your tenderness is paradise /_  
_baby take me there and i will worship at your feet /_  
_you can have my soul to keep_

He’s more than pliant under Zero’s hands where he lays back on his bed in nothing but his small clothes, cheeks flushed from alcohol and merriment and the arousal building low in his stomach as he’s looked over, kissed over, touched over. It’s pleasant where he’s warm everywhere with each lingering touch, breath leaving Odin on a short sigh where Zero neatly places a kiss to his collarbone to sooth a blooming bruise.

Nohrian celebration has always called for drinks to go around aplenty, something Odin has learned while still being here these few weeks after the war has ended. It makes it feel like a celebration every day he spends with his Lord, with Zero. It _is_ a celebration as Marx is crowned and Hoshidan nobles and commoners alike join hands once and for all with the kingdom of Nohr, invisible foes forgotten with music loud and the cumulative atmosphere louder.

This is where Odin finds himself conflicted, knowing his time is nearing to return home while fumbling at a relationship that he wants as much as he’s hoping the other party does. It’s where he also finds it in himself to try the rich wines that are served with insistence from Marx, from his Lord, from Felicia who is happily filling up his cup each time she notices it’s low without him registering that she’s doing it with how busy he is talking, smiling, dancing. He’s content where the alcohol takes hold of his mind and body, content when he feels a solid hand placed on his lower back. It distracts him enough from the goblet being plucked from his hand, grey hues trailing over to meet a singular blue one that’s brimming with mischief.

“Come with me.”

It's a promise. A command.

And he does go, eager as he is curious where he follows Zero away from the music, away from the loud voices and down cool halls until they’re back in the quarters of their prince; quarters they already reside in. It’s Odin's room they find themselves in, Zero’s hands on his waist before he’s pulling slow at the laced-up casual clothes that are so unlike his regular robes.

Odin only returns the attention as much as it’s being given to him, matching pace with numbed fingers until he’s nudged back on the bed and Zero is taking care of his own pants with Odin left to watch where he's shifting against pillows to make himself comfortable.

He gives no resistance when Zero nudges his legs apart, settles between them (like he has so many times before) and glances down at him like he’s the last thing he’ll see (something he has never done). Something is wrong in that moment but he can’t bring himself to say anything – not yet. Nothing like _I’m going home soon_ or _I’m sorry_ or _I don’t want to leave, but I have to_. As much as he wants to speak, he keeps his mouth shut as to not ruin the moment, to not push Zero because there’s a _reason_ they’re there, a _reason_ as to why he’s so insistent and so intent on giving Odin attention that he otherwise would not give.

The situation only feels more foreign when Odin is allowed to reach out, and even with alcohol and the thrill of a party still thrumming through his system, he still remembers fully how many times they have stepped around each other, danced around obstacles that stopped him from reaching out and simply _touching_ Zero. It didn’t matter whether that was a gentle touch on the wrist, a hand on his shoulder urging him to turn around, or fingers in his hair as he napped on his lap under the sun on a particularly good day off in the middle of war. They tiptoed long before he was allowed such a privilege, that boundary still fragile.

Still, he touches him because he’s allowed to, relishing in the feel of scarred skin underneath his hands and the soft of white that he’s allowed to run his fingers through as he’s lavished with constant kisses, with fresh marks that he knows his regular robes won’t cover up (not that he needs to wear them anyways – it’s rare that he does with war washed from the horizon and the prospect of returning home making itself glaringly obvious as each day passes, with each time Selena and Lazward ask him when he’s planning on returning). His hands only pull free when Zero is easing back, still tucked between his spread legs and looking down at him like this is the last time – like he _knows_. 

It causes Odin to sober up some, the feeling of loss settled high in his throat and choking out the stack of words he wants to say, contrasting the pleasure that had only built with each touch from rough hands against his sides, his thighs; from pleasure of wet kisses and teeth sunk deep into his fair skin. 

“You’re leaving soon.”

The words come out like a statement and it’s obvious that Zero knows. He has to. Odin blinks slow when he hears it, allowing is brain to process it before his gaze trails to the side while attempting to focus on the heat of a hand pressed right above his frantic heart.

“How did you know?”

Odin’s voice is small when he asks the question, hesitant as he is quiet. He’s almost surprised by the sound of it but is too keen on hearing the answer through his wine-addled thoughts.

“I heard _Inigo_ talking to you late one night when I was on patrol. How long have you been planning on returning, Odin? Or should I call you Owain, now?”

Odin chokes again, the fear of being discovered welling up and spreading through his already tired bones. It’s more than enough to sober him completely, at this point, suddenly aware of each point where their bodies make contact or how his own breath catches painful in his chest. He feels extra warm then, distress bleeding onto his features where he refuses to meet Zero’s gaze. He’s too scared to see what’s there, too fearful of the final rejection to come.

“I … _please don’t_.” He pauses, fingers curling into sheets to ground himself. “Odin is fine just – I will be in so much trouble should Selena find out about this, but I suppose I can tell you the truth.”

He’s met with a silence that encourages him to continue, eyes slipping closed.

“The three of us are from somewhere else, disguised, only brought here to quell another war as chosen heroes. You could say we come from another time. It’s … much too difficult to explain, but we have always been slated to return home when our mission is complete. I have been the one putting off our return if only to spend more time with you and Lord Leon,” he breathes out. 

Odin is still met with silence, still too timid to open his eyes until he feels wetness on his cheeks and hands gripping the sheets next to his head. He looks up quick then, startled, almost shaken where he sees Zero crying. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t something he ever expected to see, especially from a man so typically unshaken.

“Zero…”

His tone is gentle as he reaches up slow, making sure not to scare him off. It’s the last thing he wants to do, and he’s more than grateful when he isn’t met with any resistance as calloused fingers brush tears away slow. Odin sits up then, pushes Zero back onto his heels until he’s the one settling between his legs with sure arms around the archer’s shoulders.

He understands, though, knows those tears are for loss after finally giving in to someone. He knows the feeling well from the first time he'd fallen in love.

“I’m sorry.” 

There’s the apology Odin has been wanting to get out as he presses a kiss to Zero’s forehead, one to his closed eye, one to each cheek, one to his lips. His fingers are reverent where they trace the bottom edge of his eye patch, the rise of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw before he’s kissing him with more fervor and feeling if only in hope that it conveys how deep his care and love runs, to stop the tears that still flow.

“I do not wish to leave,” he admits against his lips. “I do not wish to leave you, though I am afraid they may force me with them.”

“Then don’t go,” Zero grinds out, voice rough from disuse, from holding back quiet tears. “Stay here, like this.”

And Odin allows him to show him what _like this_ means as he’s pushed back down on the bed again, heat washing over his body once more when he’s being kissed again, hot and languid like they have all the time in the world left together as Zero drinks him in at a rate similar to how Odin had drank sweet wine mere hours before (and that might be true. possibly, considering what his end choice is). 

He sighs against his lips, relinquishes all control to allow Zero to take over. Odin lifts his hips for his smallclothes to be removed, moans low into the outlaw’s mouth when a firm hand coaxes him back to full hardness, keens with knitted brows at their cocks aligned and Zero’s weight heavy upon him. 

Odin is content like this, rolling his hips up into the tension that builds lazy and warm in the depth of his stomach. He doesn’t want to forget this, the way it mounts while watching Zero’s expression twist from the momentary desperation he’d had into that of his own winding pleasure. His gaze is steady where he watches him, hands earnest where they slide through hair, over skin, memorizing each curve, each scar, each flex of muscle as Zero works him to completion with hands around both of them. 

He’s less focused on his own break despite the way Zero’s name falls from his lips as he comes quick, working around the way his thoughts are fraying to wrap his fingers around Zero, himself, bringing him to the edge and over with sweet whispers and deft fingers. 

Odin swallows as Zero takes a moment, breathes, and then leaves. The same panic from before washes over him when his mind yells at him that this is the end, the last, all before Zero’s back with a cloth and cleaning him up without a word.

And that’s when he blurts it out, a little less eloquently than he’d wished in all the times he’s pictured confessing. It’s as brash as it is mortifying, cheeks coloured dark with red while – 

“I like you.”

– slips out.

Zero smiles small, almost sad where Odin can still see that it’s a happy one at such an honest confession. Because really – when is Odin not absolutely and utterly honest with his myriad of expressions and always obvious body language?

Even then, he allows himself to be urged back into bed while Zero tugs blankets from the base up and around them in a rare show of affection before pulling him in, hold sure if only for the night as he buries his face into blonde locks with a sigh, with a returned –

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come yell @ me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kazujerk) or send me prompts!


End file.
